Little me

It was early when the forge master sent a slave to find me. I still wasn't quite awake as the thick leather belt was released from my throat to be replaced by the circlet of Turian steel. And I was only a bit more awake when the bit of metal slid into the soft tissue of my nose.
There were tears trailing down my cheeks but probably not for the reason anyone would have thought. See it is not everyday a girl gets a ring especially one she's waited for all of her life. I had and now it was there. If there was any doubts, I had proof now that I was Tuchuk.
The rest was simply understood without words. There had been a time when my favorite book lay next to my favorite chair. There was a chapter marked with the edge of the page turned down I would return to.
The kalmak with the golden bosk horns I'd embroidered around the hem was lain aside. I decided to find another one a bit closer to my size than the one raven had made for me. That one still unnerved me when I put it on. It made me ... feel far too seductive for my liking.
If I'd given a great deal of thought to it all, I would have worried about how I would handle not wishing to be touched by any other man as a camp slave, but there was something else more pressing at the moment. In all I felt a sense of relief that I could have explained to no one else but him. Perhaps he already knew. There was something I had to do, something that sent shivers along my spine with the barest thought. It would all be far easier now.
When I stepped back out into the harigga it was once more as a camp slave. I went immediately to see if I could catch up with a fiesty little tuchuk master that I'd nick named Me too.

Too little

A tale within a tale

It all began with a piece of red candy that a Mistress gave me for helping her with some small task. A young Master decided that it looked good enough to eat, literally. I asked his mother if he could have it. It was fine with her but as I offered it to him, I told him that when I was very young that was how we knew we had been good. We would be offered a thin stick of candy with stripes along the sides and we knew ... we knew without a doubt that we had been good. As he turned with the little reasure in one hand and his other slid into the waiting fingers of his mother's, I heard him say to her. 'Momma, she tells good stories.'


That was how I was asked to tell another to a somewhat larger gathering of shining cherub faces. I could think of no better tale to tell than that of the little boy who never grew up, a little winged spirit girl and a darling family. As I wove through the verses of the story, there were bright wide eyes and little bow mouths lain open in awe.


I had gotten to the part where the boy had lost his shadow when I noticed him. He had ventured in a bit closer along the sidelines but still not quite part of the crowd. I knew that poochy little lower lip and that poochy little belly from before. This time he did not carry a lance longer than he was tall. The hesitance to be a part of the rest touched me. Even from a distance I could see the swipes of blue that marked previous attempts to belong.


I continued to let the story unfold hoping that something within the tale would spark something within him. Instead it was another with more bravado and swagger that chirped in to mimic my words. 'I do not believe in winged spirit people.'


There was an unbelievable saddness that washed over me. My gaze shot to the smallest of the bunch instantly. Did he? Could he .. believe in something he could not see? Could he find hope and faith in things that were not so obvious as flesh and blood and the sulleness of being kept distant? I read nothing on the tiny features and found that hurt most of all.


It was almost time for evening meal and the call of Tuchuk mothers broke up the pint sized throng. I had my own chores to see to as well but I stayed for another few moments watching.


For a moment the small one returned the stare. He stood rooted to his spot as I did mine while the others ventured off for a hearty meal of bosk. Then as if something had lit a fire beneath him, I watched him pitter pat off in a different direction than the others. Somehow I could still see the unbalanced lance as his guard lump bumping over stones and pebbles along the dusty paths even though he was empty handed.


I closed my eyes for a moment and then it seemed the moment was gone.

One little

Ballerina's Song

I think there is a certain kind of confidence that Daddy's girls have. It comes from that deep rooted bond they share and the security that there is someone that will protect them no matter what. She was a Daddy's girl. You could see it in her expressions. You could read it in her mannerisms.

We played dress up with strands of bana beads. She was layering them on as if she were the Queen of Sheba and now and then draping one over my head or nose which ever was closest at the time. When one of them got caught in her hair, she decided it was time to do something else. Trust me, she let me know real quick.

A few turns of the key on an ornately carved music box, the kind you wind up and this spinner thing tickles little bars to make music, and the world was filled with the sweet sounds of wonderment. This one was playing a delightful tune that reminded me of Mozart. Chubby little fingers didn't always have to hold on for the teeny hip to rock from one side to the other, just dancing. The dainty ballerina didn't even need slippers or a tutu.

Life can be exhausting at that age, so much to see and so much to do. Hard headed determination to wring as much out of it as possible was in direct conflict with ... nap time. Fatigue created a frustration to try and squeeze a few more drops from the moment and that was tiring as well. Nothing could appease the high spirited little beauty. Oh, the unfairness of it all! She began to cry these wracking little sobs that had a stuttered inhale at the end. Sometimes it is best just to let it all out so I let her vent for a bit. Then I began to hear this soft little keening in between the sobs. I thought maybe the music box had gotten stuck on one note. Listening closer I realized she was singing. She was singing then sobbing and stuttering then singing some more. It was enough to just make your heart melt. ... and ... have to try to hide the giggle.

I gathered her up along with her soft little fur and drew her up in the crook of my arm. It was all she needed. That sense of security and warmth and she found it by tucking her head just beneath my chin. Together we sang sweet lullabies until I was the only one singing. For a long time I just held her. It was a selfish thing. All that softness, all that sweetness. I soaked it up as long as I could before I laid her down. Then I kissed her forehead with a lingering.

Hues of a dream

The top of the wagon opened to let in the richness of the open sky. The edges melting away like a flame will the center of a parchment to expose the twinkling of lights above me. It was such a beautiful world. The lines of vaporous clouds traced through them like fingers. Each tinged with a different color. The night is not simply dark nor black but a wonderful array of pinks, purples, reds and greens mingled with shades from a moonstone. It gave me a peaceful feel to look up at it.

I was dreaming. I had to be.

I couldn't remember how long it had been since I'd seen the painted man but he was there in the corners of my sight.

His smile.
I wanted to reach up and touch it.

I did reach but he was too far away.

His whispers.

He touched me in return with soft spoken words that held reassurance, guidance, even admonishment though they were never harsh. He spoke of the courage it had taken to face this journey, to come so far. Was I truly ready to give it all up now? He didn't need to hear my answer, I did. No. There was still a long way to go, there were still trials and tribulations to meet and I would. There was more than here and now whether I could see that or not. Life like the sky I was looking into was more than tidbits of light trying to strain their way beyond where they were to shine in the darkness.

I saw a happiness that I could feel like the arms I had tried to wrap around the one that owned me. Was that not what was most important? Was that not why I was here in the first place? To see light brought into the emptiness? I heard the laughter rolling like the soft sound of summer thunder. I saw peacefulness in gentle spoken words shared that would create the chisel of smile into a line of scars that had not known them in too long.

I could see farther despite the fact I was no Haruspex. It did not take one to see what unfolded in my dream. I reached out to touch the face of the painted one and told him thank you for sharing such a beautiful vision.
Tomorrow, the small remembrances would bring a smile even at the oddest of times.
I would watch the dream unfold

Animal Instincts

Before I could make it out to the herds, I was turned back. No one was allowed out on the plains. I felt this surge of something grip inside me when I heard about the larls. They were rumored to be unafraid of humans. I knew from my abilities with wild things that this was not going to turn out well. Animals have far more fear of us than we do of them. It is usually only in fear that they attack, believing they are protecting themselves. These were pure predator and they had tasted blood, fresh human blood. I looked out over the vast openness of the prairie as if I could see one of them. They were there, I could feel it. How could I feel them and not him when they had injured him? Yes I'd heard but I had not seen him to know. I felt a trickle of anxiety race through my veins. What was it Falon had said? He was a big boy, he could take care of himself. They had said that about the paga Master too.

I went to Palla's wagon to help her gather her salt for the rations. She is a real piece of work. She could arm wrestle a kur when she wanted to but now and then she had this ... misery that flared up. It kept her from doing a lot of things others needed her to do. This was going to be one of them. I saw to it her share was added in with the rest of the tribe's. She did share a recipe for curing meats that didn't use salt so it seemed more than fair. The rich spices would add flavor and keep it from spoiling.

For the next few days I was kept busy with helping see portions of the seasoning taken in. I only had a glimpse of raven, salt covered and inundated with stacking the stores to a wagon. She was collecting kisses along with the salt. I had to admire her for being consistent.

In the midst of it all, dissension had broken out among the ranks. No one seemed to big and brave enough to speak openly but the shielded whispers spoke of a change. How easily they forget the one that has kept them safe, kept them in bounty and prosperity. It enraged me to the core. Yes, I would relish more time with him but he gave of his all for his people and this was how they intended to pay homage? I wanted to stand atop one of the wagons and scream as loud as I could at them, scratch eyes out, pummel someone, something into the dust that blew through the camp. I wound up taking my frustrations out on a few furs that needed airing.

It was later in the hand when I ventured again fires to find him surrounded by more of the tribe than I can remember being gathered at one time. Great skies he looked like a sight for sore eyes. I was running to him and slid my arm around him to hold him tight. I thought I was offering an embrace to him. How quickly he cut through to the reality to show me my error. It reminded me of that first meeting when his blade had held against my throat. The tiny nick scalded deep, as deep as the words he had spoken tonight. In some ways he reminded me of those wild animals, lashing out when hurt. It was simply a matter of keeping watch to see which animal I was dealing with. For the moment I felt unsure if I was equal to the task. I could not see the resemblances in my own angers and those of his.

... bell. That hesitance again as he spoke the name.

Self doubt does not wear well on me. I was sent to serve others and would do so with pride. It was while I knelt at the side of another that he rose and left. This time he avoided the wagon completely. I would not, could not go to him. When none had more need of me, I went to see to other chores. I would find something to stay busy. I didn't whisper the same thing into the darkness tonight when I finally lay down to rest. Instead I whispered ...

I'll find you.

It was not a question. I tried too, to put the worry from my thoughts that time seemed to be running out or that maybe he didn't wish to be found.


When you're down and out
When you're on the street,
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you.
I'll take your part.
When darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.

Missing

Life had drawn us in different directions over and over again. I had been determined that I would take it all in stride. I'd been spending my time here, cleaning, caring for his things, seeing to the littles of life so that he would have no worries. At least not within the confines of the wagon. Dinner would be ready when he could make it home. Home. I looked around the wagon in a new light. This was not home to him. The plains themselves, the stars, the grass, the multitudes of grazing bosk. Those were more home to him than the rolling enclosure. It had not dawned on me until I came in and noticed the scent of him lingering in the air. The change of clothing and the abscence of the tether he used to tie back his hair. I was filled with this flood of emotions. I was thrilled beyond my imagining. I was seething mad that fate had once more slid our paths off skew so that we missed each other. I was saddened that I missed him. I kept missing him. It was a weighted kind that ached deep down in deep down places I didn't know existed to me. I can't ever remember feeling like this, especially about someone, anyone. Trouble was he didn't know.

When I first came to these people, I knew I belonged here. It was more than just a feeling, it was a conviction. It was not the tribe that had drawn me across time and space. I will forever be a part of them. It was meant to be but my reason for being here, my purpose was just for one.

I grabbed a blanket, packed a meal and headed out for the herds. There was so much that rested on his shoulders. Would he, could he use another to lean on? It was time to listen. It was time to share, a time to dare. There was an old saying about a prophet and a mountain. I didn't once look back at the wagon.


Share with me the blankets that your wrapped in
because its cold outside cold outside its cold out side
share with me the secrets that you kept in
because its cold inside cold inside its cold inside
and your slowly shaking finger tips
show that your scared like me so
let's pretend we're alone
and I know you may be scared
and I know were unprepared
but I don’t care
tell me tell me
what makes you think that you are invincible
I can see it in your eyes that your so sure
please don’t tell me that I am the only one that’s vulnerable
impossible
Vulnerable ~ Secondhand Serenade

Jam in my jelly roll

A raid on a berry patch had yeilded a vast amount of the sun warmed little globes. They were lightly sweet but still had just a touch of tartness that made your hand snake back to the basket for another. It took sheer willpower not to start the 'one for the jelly, two for me' count.

One of the women provided jars, another a large stock pot and still another the sugar. As hot as the days were, we thought nothing of crouching over the searing heat, stirring the berries lovingly into a jam. It didn't seem to take much encouragement for the water to boil for the hot water baths that would seal the lids tight. Mmm how the air took on that delicious fruity aroma just before we heard the lids do that little ... 'pop' sound.

When the last jar sealed, we were surrounded by small glistening jars filled with sparkly ruby red. We had two cases each and Palla gave me her two as well. She didn't like the stuff, she just enjoyed making it. I could understand. I had enjoyed the task as well, far more than nibbling a bit of toast lathered with the treat to be honest. Cana later said she thought the woman had more on her mind than jellies to give Him all of hers as well. Actually, people did things like that all the time, drop off a hand made quilt, reins for a kaiila, jerky strips and so forth. It made them feel good to share and too it was sort of their homage to their Ubar. Either way I took four of the crates back to the wagons.

I'm still a bit unnerved that I can 'feel' him when he is close. It isn't always acurate and I have no words to describe the empty feeling inside when I go running to the fires and find myself mistaken but the times I'm not make up for it. Last eve was one of those times. There he was. Dust covered, tired and after being out riding for several days he was as pungeantly ripe as the berries, he is still the jam in my jelly roll.

Making jams was only a small thought in the back of my head when I offered to bring him a basin of hot water. It almost broke my heart to hear he was only there for a few moments then would ride back out. I worry, it is what I do. I'm not the only one that worries about him. Although Falon chided me about him being a big boy and capable of taking care of himself, she did say at least the parcels of meat I tucked in his pack were there when he needed them.

A young Master named Trilock mentioned that a woman without a nose rings was like not having tits or brains. Damned, if I didn't reach up and touch the empty spot beneath my nose. Good thing I didn't reach up and grope my chest just to check.

When the conversations turned again to family, I leaned over to see if he had started that little tic he was famous for. Instead he had drifted off for a moment. I must not have been quick enough refilling that bowl of blackwine. It was touching though. Brushing a lock of his hair from his brow something clutched deep inside. I felt a longing for something I didn't have.

When Tarra arrived at the fires, she said she had missed me. I confessed that I'd missed her and the others as well. I had. I'd bring some of the honey to her when I knew she would be at her wagon and some of the jellies too. There was enough to share with Cana and Falon too. I think I will enjoy bringing them the jars and maybe sit and talk with them for a while.

I was trying to shake thoughts of jelly rolls and little jelly beans from my head when I left to make fresh blackwine and pack some meat in Rocca's saddle bag. I touched my nose again. I'm tuchuk now, I fill my kalmak out well enough, I have brains so why did that little ring make such a difference?

Sweeeeet

I followed some bees to a hollowed out tree stump and was delighted to find the comb. He liked honey and this would make a perfect gift for him.

Now I may have an unusual way with wild animals but I found out rather quickly that it did not cross over to bees. I didn't mind the sting so much as my reactiveness to them. Amidst the pain and redness, my eyes began to close with the swelling. Oh what a pretty picture I was. Luckily for me, one of the elder Mistresses knew just what to do. A poultice for the puntures and a foul tasting spoonful or three of something she had brewed up, I swear it had to have been centuries and centuries ago.

I was supposed to stay in the wagon and let the medicine work its 'magic', but instead I took the time to pluck the stray bees off of it, cut the comb and put it in a bowl.

I have to admit I felt a lurch in my heart for a moment when I'd heard the drums announcing a warrior had been brought home for his final journey. It was only a brief fear however. I can't explain how I knew, I just knew it wasn't mine. I could feel him, hear him somewhere inside me still rummaging around, sort of lost, but never the less still there. I had met the paga Master once or twice and had liked him. He would be missed by many.

The celebrations of life and death among my people was as rich in ritual and as ancient as their journies across the plains. I knew he would be involved in the preparations and the ceremonies over the next few days so the honey would wait until after. I knew too that his feelings went far deeper than the surface. The loss of a commander would mean a change in patrols. The loss of a friend would take time to heal.

But just as soon as the drums began to fade, I gathered the bowl and raced out to the herds to find him.

How magnificent he looked when I caught sight of him. How handsome, how rugged he looked. How lonely, how weary he seemed as well. I meant to give him a big hug ... but ...

I tripped over my own two feet, went crashing into him, bowled us both over and smushed the honey and the combs between us. I was horrified and embarrassed at my own clumsiness. Stammering at first trying to apologize, the words just stuck in my throat. Then I began to laugh.

Honey covered Tuchuk

The laughter was still bubbling up when I whispered,'Don't you look sweet?' Then I did what any red blooded tuchuk would do. I kissed him. The kind of kiss that said, I didn't like being away from him for so long.

Later, to cheer him up, I told him the story of how Attila took on the great empire.